


As Flesh Be Turned To Stone, So Stone Be Turned To Flesh

by waterlilyvioletfog



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragonglass, Dragons, Dragonstone, F/M, Gen, POV Shireen Baratheon, Queen Shireen Baratheon, Shireen Baratheon Deserved Better, Shireen Baratheon Lives, The Dragonmont, team dragonstone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlilyvioletfog/pseuds/waterlilyvioletfog
Summary: Listen. Shireen Baratheon deserves a motherfucking dragon.
Relationships: Daenerys Targaryen & Shireen Baratheon, Melisandre of Asshai & Shireen Baratheon, Selyse Baratheon & Shireen Baratheon, Shireen Baratheon & Stannis Baratheon, Shireen Baratheon/Devan Seaworth
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	1. Conception

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was entirely inspired by this post on tumblr: https://blndraws.tumblr.com/post/189725212904 by blndraws.

Shireen had five namedays when she first wandered below, into the Dragonmont. The heat of liquid fire pressing into her little face was one of her oldest memories. 

The Dragonmont had been one of her favorite places to go ever since. True, it was hot, but Shireen had found she didn't mind the heat so much, particularly once she stopped thinking about it. Most of Dragonstone was chilly, with ocean breezes, mist, and fog constantly blowing about the island with few trees to bear the brunt of the cold. So yes, the Dragonmont was almost friendly by comparison in its warmth. 

The tunnels of the Dragonmont twisted and turned, diving backwards and forwards with abandon. Shireen hadn't seen all of the passage ways, but she had thoughts of one day making a map of the tunnels. There were whole caverns littered with different colored gem-like glass, in shades of green, red, black, yellow, violet, blue. When Shireen was eight she brought some of the blue glass to a tradesman near the ports and asked him to make it into a flower. She gave the flower to her mother as a gift, a blue forget-me-not brooch, a symbol of Selyse Florent's house. Selyse had accepted the gift stiffly, but the awkwardness of her acceptance told Shireen that if her mother was stiff, it was out of surprise, not discomfort. 

When Shireen was seven, she had the thought of bringing some of the glass to Maester Cressen. 

"What is this, Shireen?" the old man asked her. 

"Glass, I think." 

Maester Cressen peered more closely at the glass. "Ah, yes. You are largely correct. It is glass- but not ordinary glass. This is obsidian, sometimes called "dragonglass". I imagine if you asked a servant what it was, that's what they would call it." 

"Oh. Is it very different from ordinary glass?" 

"Well, it gets its color by natural means rather than dyes and such, I think. I'm sorry, child. I don't know terribly much about glass making. If I did, I could tell you more." 

"That's alright, Maester." 

"Where did you find this?" 

"Here on the island. Merely lying around." It was technically true. Shireen didn't tell people about the Dragonmont. It was her secret special place. She hadn't even told Devan about it. 

The maester nodded sagely. "That does not surprise me. This castle sits atop a smoking mountain. Their fires can produce obsidian. I'm sure that if one were to explore the ruins of Valyria- not that you should ever do that, young lady, as they are _exceedingly_ dangerous- you could likely find massive quantities of obsidian. The Valyrians built their empire upon the Fourteen Flames, mountains just like this one. When those flames died, the Valyrian Empire died with them. When one thinks about it, twas only fitting that the remaining Valyrians should choose a different smoking mountain upon which to rebuild." The remainder of that particular afternoon was devoted to studying the Valyrians, the empire, and their fall. 

So the glass was dragonglass, different from ordinary glass. 

The liquid fire of the Dragonmont gave off an orangey glow, bright enough to see by. Sometimes, when Shireen's mother was being particularly overbearing, Shireen would take a book and wander down into the caves and read for hours by the light of that thick ooze. Time would pass by without Shireen noticing because the light never faded as the sun did. No one ever came looking for her beneath the Dragonmont. 

One day when Shireen was ten, she went down a new path. She had a candle with her because she knew she was going exploring and not all the tunnels were so well lit as those coves she read in. Shireen took a right turn and then a left, then went straight for what felt like a very long time. 

Finally, Shireen stopped at the opening of a cavern and stepped in. The cavern was warm and bright, but very large- large enough to feast all of Stannis Baratheon's vassals, and likely a goodly number of his men and his smallfolk, too. A wide river of fire snaked its way across the floor. Shireen did not dare attempt to cross it, but she approached the breach without fear. 

There were little outcroppings in places- from the walls or over the fire- where Shireen could see large stones, each smaller than her head but larger than her fist, sitting in groups. When Shireen touched one, it was warm. This didn't strike Shireen as odd. After all, the whole room was warm. Why shouldn't these stones be as well? 

The stones varied somewhat in size and coloring, even within groups. Shireen saw red, bronze, gold, cream, silver, black, green, blue, white colored stones. Some had swirling designs on them, some were plain, some seemed smooth, some rough. Shireen chose a stone that was medium in size, silver with white streaks. It was quite smooth and pretty and when she turned it, it shimmered like the sun on the sea. So Shireen picked it up from its group and tucked it into a bag she had brought with her. 

Shireen brought the stone to her chamber, not to Maester Cressen, though for what reason she couldn't quite say. It simply felt right. She looked through trunks and drawers, pulling out old dresses that were too small for her and made a bundle of them and put them near the fire and set the stone there, where it could gleam and glimmer in the fire's light. Because it felt right. 

And if Shireen scraped herself on a brick and if blood welled up from that scrape and if that blood was dripped onto the stone and if the stone drank that blood lustily, then Shireen never noticed and never thought to wonder. 


	2. Labour Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood and fire: this was how dragons were born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is character death in this chapter and a LOT of death. I avoid detailing any gore in particular detail, but it is clear that there IS gore. All deaths are offscreen.   
Any of this seem like it might seriously upset you, then please don't read this.

"This way, princess!" It was the witch woman, Melisandre, who had her by the arm. Shireen followed. 

Screams were ringing in Shireen's head and if she looked down towards her feet, she could see where the blood of Stannis Baratheon's soldiers had seeped into the blue wool of her skirts. Shireen had slipped twice as they'd been running. Shireen kept her gaze firmly on the coppery hair falling down Melisandre's back. 

Where Melisandre was taking Shireen, she did not know, but- 

Mother trusted the Red Woman, even if Ser Davos and Maester Cressen didn't. And Father listened to her, everyone said. When she'd first come to Dragonstone, before Father had closed the harbour, no one had known what to make of the tall, mysterious woman with her strange accent. Now, seven years later, Lady Melisandre ate at Lady Selyse's table, stood at Stannis Baratheon's right hand at feasts, and, well, she'd never been even _unkind_ to anyone, now had she? Devan said that Lady Melisandre seemed nearly _friendly_ to him, and she and Devan's father did not get along at all. So, Shireen trusted her. Anyone who liked Devan had to be worth trusting. 

But the Red Woman didn't know Dragonstone as Shireen did. 

Shireen recognized the path she was being led down; it went to the citadel, where cooks, maids, errand boys, a few guards, and smallfolk would be gathered against the Lannister siege. 

The citadel was chaos when they reached it. The people who were too young, too old, too infirm, too untrained, too poor to fight all crowded together, milling about. Little children cried and went uncomforted. The people there numbered perhaps two hundred. 

Lady Melisandre sighed and let go of Shireen's arm. "Here, my princess. You must stay here, in the citadel, until the battle is over. You will be safe here; it is too deep for their catapults and arrows to find you here." She made to turn away. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I must needs return to the battle, your Grace. Your father and his knights, they have great need of me." _Visenya and Rhaenys fought on the battlefield beside their husband, too._ "I only left them to escort you here, on King Stannis's orders. I shall go. You shall stay. Comfort your little people, princess. They weep from the fear and their tears weaken them." Then, with a swirl of robes, she was gone. 

Shireen closed her eyes and bowed her head for a moment. She was alone here. 

Shireen walked over to a wall and sat down, resting the back of her head against the cool stone, trying to will the sounds of battle above her to dim. 

O-O-O-O-O-O-O 

Three days later, the castle finally quieted outside the barred doors of the citadel. An old fisherman had suggested they bar the doors on the second day, when battle cries had become too close and too loud for comfort. Shireen had ordered it done. 

Shireen tried not to think about the fact that her mother had never joined them down in the citadel, nor any other person who was highborn. Particularly when the pounding on the doors started. 

Now, Shireen listened for noise. After more than an hour had come and gone with no sound outside, Shireen turned to the others. 

"I believe the battle is over. Unbar the doors." They rushed to comply. 

The doors creaked and moaned as they were opened. The bodies of Florent soldiers slumped to the floor as the doors moved- those that were not pinned in place by arrows. 

"Pull the arrows from them," Shireen murmured to one of the guardsmen who had been placed in the citadel early on in the fight, "Check all of them to see if they are dead or merely asleep. Pile the dead up together- ours and theirs, alike. Don't kill any living Lannisters unless they try to fight you." The guard nodded his assent. 

Shireen walked on, seeing the evidence of violence, and yet also not seeing anything at all. It was so strange, like she was looking at it all from far away. But she was right there, too, with the walls of Dragonstone's corridors painted in guts and gore, its floors smooth with dried blood an tacky with blood that had not yet dried. 

The halls of Dragonstone were filled with corpses. Once, when Shireen was seven, an ancient sentry had fallen ill and had been taken to Maester Cressen's chambers. Shireen remembered hiding behind a door post with Devan Seaworth, watching the man die. 

"Ghosts!" The old man had shouted. "Dragonstone is filled with ghosts! They're coming for me! They- Gods! Mother have mercy!" 

The old man was the first person Shireen watched die. 

_He was right_, Shireen thought, _Dragonstone is full of ghosts. They glut these halls and spoil this castle and the stones are drinking up their blood even now. _

Stannis Baratheon had died near the Painted Table, where he so often could be found looming in life. Two Lannister soldiers lay near him, but Shireen guessed they had not been killed by her father, but rather by the witch. The Red Woman had his head cradled in her lap and her red gaze stretched a million miles. Her tears painted silver lines down her cheeks, lines that ran red with blood near the corners of her mouth, but she was still breathing.

Shireen knelt at her father's other side, staring into his hard face. Was that really her father? The eyes, just like hers, like bruises. Like sapphires. His coal black beard, cropped so close to his hollow cheek that it sometimes looked painted on. Shireen reached toward her own head, where she, too, had that thick, night-dark hair. His square jaw and that nose, straight as an arrow shaft- those were hers, too. Shireen's over large ears were inheritance from her mother but nearly all her other looks had been lifted from Stannis Baratheon and pasted onto Shireen's little face. The biggest difference between them was Shireen's greyscale scar, covering the left half of her left cheek and spreading down her neck. And even that was sort of like his shadow of a beard, wasn't it?

"What do I do?" Melisandre whispered. "God, what do I do? He was- he was supposed to _save_ us. I- I was _certain_ of it. It was his eyes I saw in the fires and now-" Now more tears plunged down her face. 

It felt wrong to Shireen, to see such a strong, impassive woman laid so very, very low. 

Shireen reached out and passed her hand over Stannis Baratheon's face, closing his eyes. 

"Come," she said, rising to her feet, "we must look for others." When Shireen offered the woman her hand, she took it. 

Maester Cressen, Devan, and Ser Davos were all still alive, to Shireen's relief, but most of her uncles by her mother were dead, and so were most of Stannis's other men that Shireen knew. 

There were Lannister men littering Dragonstone's halls, too. Ser Kevan Lannister, who had led the attack, was dead, along with nearly all of his men. 

Shireen's mother had locked herself in her rooms, and her maids with her. 

Finally, Shireen walked to her own chambers. The door had been busted down and a Lannister soldier's dead body leaked sticky blood in a pool at the foot of her bed. 

The fire had left the grate long ago- not a hint of a glimmer of an ember remained- but when Shireen lifted up her silver stone, it was warm to the touch. Shireen knelt on the ground and cradled it to her chest. It- hummed under her fingers. It was not a melodic hum. It was more like a buzzing. Like a fly in her ear, only not unpleasant, though it did send a finger running down her spine. So maybe not quite like a fly. Perhaps it was- words. Yes, words. Like a conversation in a crowded room. Yes, that was it. The buzzing was words, and a voice and if Shireen just focused- 

_Shireen. _

_Wake me up. _

_I feel your grief. _

_Your rage. _

_Your fear. _

_Your horror._

_Poor little one. _

_Shall I fix it?_

_Wake me- _

_and I shall protect you. _

_Wake me- _

_and you will never feel like this again. _

_Wake me, Shireen. _

_Shireen. _

_SHIREEN. _

_SHIREEN! _

"Shireen!" Devan. "Your Grace!" 

Shireen looked up into his common, plain, dear face. "Yes, Devan?" His hand, warm and calloused, gripped her shoulder. 

"Tom just came by. We've sorted all the dead." 

Shireen nodded, distantly. "Good. That's good, Devan." Devan's hand appeared palm-up before her and she took it, using him to stand. When they were both standing, it was easier to tell how tall she was. Devan's brown eyes were level with Shireen's nose.

She kept holding his hand once she had stood up. With the other, she clutched her stone to her chest. 

Not a stone. 

A dragon egg. 

_Her_ dragon egg. 

"Devan." 

"Yes?" 

"Take me to Lady Melisandre." And Devan, quiet, clever, loyal Devan, murmured that he would. 

Somehow Shireen managed to walk straight and tall from her chambers, through the bloody halls to the beaches beneath the keep where the bodies of the dead were laid out. The Red Woman stood vigil beside one of them, Shireen's mother at the priestess's side. 

"Lady Melisandre," Shireen called out. The woman turned toward Shireen's voice. Her lovely face still betrayed her grief and confusion. Shireen looked to her mother as well. Stannis Baratheon's shadow binder looked more like a grieving widow than his actual wife did. 

"Yes, my prince- Your Grace?" 

"In all your years on Dragonstone, I have seen you build many fires. I would have you build yet one more this night, before dawn breaks. It must be the greatest fire you have ever built, for I would have it be my father's funeral pyre." 

O-O-O-O-O-O-O 

"My father, his Grace King Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Ruler of the Rhoynar, the Andals, and the First Men, Lord of Dragonstone, and Protector of the Realm is dead. 

"He was strong. During my uncle Robert's Rebellion, he held Storm's End for over a year with no incoming supplies and dwindling food stores. He was eight and ten, three namedays more than I have now. Despite his youth, his men obeyed him. They listened to him. They held firm until Ser Davos Seaworth brought fish and onions to them in the dead of night. 

"My father was honorable. He believed in justice, honor, and duty. He followed laws to their very letters and wished that all other men follow in his footsteps. He served my uncle Robert on his court as his Master of Ships, even though he probably would have preferred to be Master of Laws. He worked with Jon Arryn tirelessly in an attempt to make the realm better. He never strayed in his marriage," here glances darted over towards Lady Melisandre, "even though he and my mother felt no love for one another and their marriage gave them no sons. Only me. 

"My father lost his parents when he was my age. They died in Shipbreaker Bay, while my father watched. My grandparents had been searching Essos for a bride of Valyrian descent, since my uncle Renly had been born a boy, as had the Mad King's second son, Viserys. If my uncle Renly had been born a girl, he would have married the Silver Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen and my uncle would never have rebelled. If my uncle had been my aunt, my aunt would have been married to Rhaegar Targaryen because my grandfather's mother was Rhaelle Targaryen, the daughter of King Aegon V. So I have the blood of dragons in my veins, along with foxes and turtles and stags. 

"My father was stern. He was proud. He was made of iron, and he wished for me to be as well. He loved me, in his heart, though he was never one to show affection. 

"My father was not perfect, but he was a good man. He believed that his duty was to his people, and that was why he claimed the crown for his own, rather than let it pass to Joffrey the Illborn.

"And now, he is dead." Still clutching her egg, Shireen reached out for the torch the witch held in her hand. Melisandre passed it to her. "But my father was not only a Baratheon, he was a Targaryen, too. And the Targaryens burned their dead." She stepped forward toward the pyre and dipped the torch down to touch the accelerant which had been poured over the wood. 

Fire bloomed beneath a bloody, smoky sky. Shireen passed the torch to Steffon Seaworth. 

The Red Woman raised her hands high and began to sing. 

"Don't be afraid," Shireen whispered in Devan's ear. "It won't hurt us." 

Devan turned to look at her, his eyebrows furrowed together. "Shireen?" His hand was on her arm. Shireen covered his hand with hers and guided his hand to the back of her neck, where her necklace was clasped. She moved their fingers to undo the hook, and helped him place it over his own head. The necklace was made of yellow amber and bits of black obsidian. Stormlander and Targaryen.

When the necklace was hanging around his neck, she moved their intertwined hands again, this time to her cheek, the ruined one. 

"If flesh can become stone, then stone can become flesh." She moved close to him, smoke in her lungs and salt pricking at her eyes, and touched her forehead to his.

"Shireen-" 

She silenced his protests by pressing her lips to his. Shireen did it gently, like a butterfly landing on a flower. His lips were soft against hers, the hair on his upper lip tickling her nose. He smelled like sweat and copper. Shireen didn't care. 

When she pulled back, he was staring at her. 

"Don't be afraid," Shireen said again. He was still staring. 

She took a step back from Devan, releasing his hand to hold onto her egg more tightly. She offered him a tense little smile. It was all she had left to give him. 

Then she turned around and walked into the flames of her father's funeral pyre, her face pressed into her egg, seeking its comfort, ignoring the crowd's gasps and screams. 

_Fire and blood. Fire and blood. Fire and blood. _

_Wake the dragon. Wake the dragon. Wake the dragon. _

The flames lapped at her skirts first, then nibbled at her hair, which she had let down for this. They were hot, the tongues of fire, hotter than the liquid fires of the Dragonmont, but then, she'd never tried to walk through that thick, orangey-gold soup, had she? 

Shireen walked on to the center of the pyre, where her father lay. She held her egg to her chest and curled up by her father's side, just as she had when she had been very small and had fit in the crook of his arm. 

Flames roared in her ears. Shireen closed her eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO, ALL!   
I would here like to establish some things. Most of them are ~explanatory~ (timelines & shit, mostly)   
-Shireen in this chapter is 15 years old so it is 304 AC.   
-The Others are like. Delayed. So, they're coming. But. Shireen has to grow up first so. The Others aren't here yet. The War for the Dawn has in no way begun yet.   
-The War of Five Kings has progressed Differently. I'm thinking either Ned Stark never became Hand or Robert and he didn't have their fight over Dany's assassination. ROBERT DEFINITELY HAS NOT SENT ASSASSINS TO KILL DANY because Dany doesn't have her dragons YET.   
-What I'm saying is: Shireen just brought magic back into the world. This will make the hatching of Dany's dragons ~easier~ and like,, other metaphysical stuff which you can ask me to elaborate about on my tumblr (either waterlilyvioletfog or vi6sixofasoiaf)   
-Next chapter involves the War for the Dawn I guess?? Maybe?? Fuck I'll figure this plot out at some point. AGH. Dany will definitely be there, though.   
-Melisandre is famously terrible at interpreting her visions.   
-There are seven faces of God in the Faith of the Seven. Shireen has seven letters in her name. Coincidence? I THINK NOT.   
-What I'm saying is: Shireen is God, actually.


	3. Firsts And Other Parts of Living.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three more scenes in the life of Shireen Baratheon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'M BACK SORRY I DON'T UPDATE WITH ANY SORT OF REGULARITY I'M JUST LIKE THAT.

**I. First Breaths **

Even though she'd done it intentionally, even though she'd known exactly what she was doing, even though she'd fully expected this outcome, Shireen Baratheon still found herself surprised to be breathing air when the funeral pyre's flames finally extinguished, leaving behind smoke and ashes- and _her_. 

Devan Seaworth had _not_ known what she was doing, so when he walked through the ashes and found Shireen still very much alive and looking very much like a perfectly healthy fifteen year old girl and a very _naked_ one at that, he fainted onto the sand. 

Davos Seaworth fainted at seeing the _dragon_, as it was considerably more dramatic to him than anything else going on. 

Melisandre of Asshai knelt before her true queen. Those who had not departed already knelt, too. 

The little dragon wound its way around Shireen's neck, nosing gently at the greyscale scars on her cheek. Shireen looked into the little dragon's eyes, which were a very rich shade of gold. 

"Hello," she said to the dragon. The dragon let out a little chirp and grinned, revealing tiny, deadly black teeth. 

"That's a very pretty sound you made there. I think I shall call you Starsong." The little dragon chirped in approval. "My name is Shireen, of House Baratheon." 

"Queen of Westeros," Melisandre said. Shireen finally looked up from her dragon to see the Red Woman kneeling before her in the sand, staring at her with sharp, solemn eyes. 

"Rise, Lady Melisandre," Shireen said awkwardly, her unscarred cheek flushing a deep red. Melisandre stood up and, without even bothering to brush the sand from her skirts, walked towards her new lady and offered her her shawl. Shireen took it gratefully, both because she was growing increasingly aware of her nudity, and because it was growing rather nippy. "My thanks." Melisandre nodded. 

"You there," she said to a maid who had been watching all this in shocked silence, "Go back to the keep and fetch your queen some clothes." 

"Uh- aye, m'lady." 

Stannis Baratheon's red priestess knelt before her again, but this time, it was not in deference. "Shireen. Do you even understand what you have done this night?" 

Shireen blinked, confused and a bit afraid. Melisandre placed a milk white hand upon her scarred cheek. "No? I didn't think so. You've brought _dragons_ back, Shireen. Even if you were not your father's heir, they'd make you their queen. Now do you understand?" 

Shireen nodded. "Good," Melisandre whispered, tucking a singed bit of hair behind her ear. "That's good Shireen." She reached out a slender finger and ran it down the line of still soft spikes running down the dragonling's spine. Starsong cooed at the affection and the Red Woman's eyes danced with wonder. "Starsong, you've named this one? A good name for such a sweet creature. A little miracle you are, my sweet Starsong." 

**II. First Tooth **

"What in seven hells is this?" Shireen stared down into her palm with a mixture of disgust and morbid curiosity. Starsong stared up at her smugly. 

"Is this- is this your teeth?" Starsong said nothing. Starsong was a dragon. Starsong could not speak. 

"You're proud of yourself!" Shireen accused. 

"That is absolutely disgusting," Shireen informed the dragonling. 

Shireen found a drawstring pouch to put the tiny, black, knife-like teeth into and then put that into the chest where she kept her most treasured possessions. Starsong looked on knowingly and warbled a little tune. 

"I can't believe you've done this." 

"What's he done this time?" Devan asked from the doorway. 

"Starsong's lost his first tooth." She said it with great irritation. 

"I seem to recall losing my own teeth when I was a child," Devan pointed out, bemused.

Shireen wrinkled her nose at him. "Yes, but you didn't immediately spit said teeth out into your mother's hand, now did you?" 

Devan considered this. "No, I don't believe I did." 

"Now you see why I'm annoyed." 

"Yes, I think I do." 

"Devan." 

"Mmm." 

"Devan..." 

"Mmmhmmm." 

"Dev-"

"Yes Your Grace?" 

"Will you marry me?" 

Devan grinned. He had been a quiet child and he was a quiet man, and he'd learned the art of not smiling at her father's knee. When Devan smiled, the whole wolrd seemed to stop. "Of course I'll marry you, Shireen." 

Starsong nestled into the covers of Shireen's bed and closed his eyes, happy. 

**III. First Friend **

"No," Daenerys Targaryen said very firmly. "No. That's impossible." 

"Nothing is impossible with the Lord," Lady Melisandre intoned. 

"But-" 

"But what? You thought yourself the only heir to the dragon? The only one in R'hllor's favor? The only one who could birth dragons?" 

Daenerys was silent, stormy as her name suggested. 

"You were wrong, Daenerys Stormborn. You are not the last dragon, nor even truly the mother of dragons. It was my queen who brought magic back into the world. Without her, your children might never have been born." 

Daenery's angry violet eyes pressed sharply against Melisandre's cool red gaze. 

"I want to see it. I want to see my cousin's dragon." 

Melisandre was quiet for a moment, considering the demand. "Of course. If my queen agrees." She nodded to a page, who ran off to fetch the Queen. 

Queen Shireen Baratheon, First of Her Name came in ten minutes time, escorted by her husband, Crown Prince Devan Baratheon, and her dragon Starsong, who was at that point about three years old and fully grown. Starsong was about the size of a house by this time and could eat a sheep whole if he so chose. 

Upon seeing the massive silvery drake, Daenerys sucked in a breath. Starsong was bigger than even Drogon, though perhaps not by much. But it was more than Starsong's size that was affecting her- this was proof. 

"This is Starsong," Shireen told the little mother of dragons. 

"Drogon," Dany said, gesturing to her black. "Named for my husband. He was a fearsome warrior who swore to give me my throne. I thought Drogon might serve the same purpose in his stead." 

Starsong padded towards his cousin cautiously, sniffing the air around him, narrowing his eyes. Drogon was calmer, having grown up around other dragons making him far more used to them than Starsong. Suddenly, Starsong bonked Drogon on the snout. Drogon let out a little roar of complaint, but Dany, who was monitoring the situation closely, could tell that Drogon had not actually taken any true offense. 

With the flapping of mighty wings, Drogon and Starsong took to the skies, swooping around each other. 

"Are they- playing?" Shireen asked Dany. 

"I do believe they are," she replied with a smile. Shireen smiled back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!! Drogon and Starsong are hanging out!! Best friends now!! Couple points.   
-Starsong? Yes. Starsong. Shireen uses he/him pronouns for Starsong, so I do too. Dragons, for the record, do not have binary sex. So. Yeah.   
-What's going on at the Wall? Shrug. Ice Zombies on the way. Jon may or may not be at the Wall. He probably is.   
-HOW WILL DANY AND SHIREEN SETTLE THIS? I'm thinking that Shireen gets to be queen and Dany just like, hangs out on Dragonstone.   
-What's Dany's life like? Oh yeah so she had Rhaego, a miscarriage, and a daughter named Naerri. Drogo and Viserys are both dead tho. Also Jorah's dead because FUCK JORAH there I said it come get me motherfuckers.


End file.
